Cliche. Yes, I know, but there's something to it (as I've said in one of my novels- I forget which- cliches are there for a reason: they're usually awkwardly accurate). This lockdown period has reminded me just how relevant the above quote is, in very many aspects of my life.
The obvious one, because of the timing of level four's imminence, is running. Prior to lockdown, I was a little bit bored with running. Waking up at 4am to run felt like a huge mission and running after work in the evenings just wasn't happening. I had a serious case of lack of motivation (people who dislike me might call it laziness). Now, five weeks later, I cannot wait to run. All I can think about is how I'm going to get up early tomorrow morning so that I can be out on the road running at 6am tomorrow morning. I've planned my route. I even forwent a third glass of wine to ensure that I'd wake up clear-headed for my run. Under the current circumstances, that missed glass of wine implies a lot. I may only manage to run 3km, but by God, run I am going to!
There are less obvious (but infinitely more important) things than running whose absence lockdown has emphasised.
I miss my sister and my nephews and my brother-in-law. I am incredibly privileged that my sister lives about 7km from me and that I get to see her and her wonderful, fun, crazy, warm-hearted, full-of-life family at least once a week. Since lockdown, we've been able to do WhatsApp video calls and Zoom meetings, but there's always something not quite right: the signal goes, or my children start fighting over who gets their face on the screen, or my nephews get bored. It's just not the same as when we connect in person. I miss being able to chat over a cup of tea; I miss kissing my gorgeous nephews' chubby cheeks, I miss the wonderful chaos of us all being together for a lunchtime braai.
I miss my mom. She lives in Cape Town so I don't get to see her as often as I would like to, but usually I live secure in the knowledge that should I need her, she would jump on the next flight to be at my side. Now, that security is gone. And I worry about what I would do if something happened to her or my dad. I have taken for granted the luxury of a quick domestic flight to connect me with my parents. That luxury has gone for now.
I miss my parents-in-law. They live close by- 15 minutes drive up the North Coast from us- and yet we cannot see them. Our usual routine is that they collect my sons from school on a Friday afternoon and stay with them until I get home from work. I don't think I comprehended, prior to lockdown, what incredibly special time this was for my children, and how much they learnt about life every Friday afternoon. Now I live with the constant subconscious fear that something is going to happen to them and we aren't going to get those Friday afternoons back again.
I miss my friends. I miss having people to moan to and laugh with. I miss the reassurance and acceptance that I am used to feeling when I am with my friends. I believe that the absence of this reassurance and acceptance is one of the biggest reasons that I've struggled emotionally during the lockdown: I don't have those people at my side reminding me that I'm doing okay just as I am. And I miss laughing with them. I miss the belly-ache of uncontrollable, tear-inducing, wee-leaking laughter (yes, I am blessed with the most awesome friends).
10 years ago (almost) I had a hysterectomy for cervical cancer. The hysterectomy followed two weeks on the back of an appendicectomy, so my body was pretty hammered by the time I was discharged from hospital and it took me a good two months to recover. I have a very distinct memory from six weeks after my hysterectomy: that of my first run/walk. It was a 5km run/walk that took huge reserves of mental and physical strength for me to complete. I remember finishing the run and promising myself that I would never, ever take running, or even walking, for granted again. I swore that I would value my physical strength and that I would stop complaining about my body. I had learnt the importance of physical well-being through its being taken away from me and I promised myself that I would never forget that lesson. Well, quite obviously, ten years later, I did.
It seems an odd quirk of human nature that it takes something being taken away from us for us to realise its value (sometimes more than once). I don't want that to be the case anymore. If I can take something positive away from this lockdown, I'd like it to be a reminder of the value of those things that previously I've taken for granted: the love of family and friends, the ability to exercise, the freedom to come and go as I please. My lesson with running- ten years ago and now- has shown me how easy it is to slip into old habits and, once the threat of losing something has passed, to slowly, surreptitiously, forget its value. Let me never forget again.
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